
iSi 



LIBRARY OF CONGBE§S. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





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GOLDEN HEADS 



BY 



HETTY HEARTHSTONE. 

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WARE, MASS., 
PRESS OF CHAS. W. EDDY, 



i~^7/i~-Z. 



1894. 



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Copyrighted. 1894. 
BY C. W. EDDY. 



DEDICATION. 



Dedicated to my much loved grandchild whose 
childhood days lent often the buttercup's hue to an 
otherwise somber life. 



GOLDEN HEADS. 



No little patter-toot coming more near, 
No little golden head nestling near mine. 

No sweet good morning to make life more dear, 
No loving arms round my necic doth entwine. 

No little brown eyes, that dance with delight 

While the feet caper and prance. 
No merr\' dimples that play at "Bo Peep" 

As she's playing whirl in the dance. 

No little birdling that sings at my door 
• The songs that are sweetest to hear. 
While she often peeps in to ask, o'er and o'er. 
Do you like it my Grandmama dear? 

No little hand bringing oftimes a flower, 
With Heaven taught purpose to cheer ; 

Thus weaving round each a halo, so bright, 
Offriemories lasting and dear. 



No little questions that need wise reply. 

And tax to the utmost my brain ; 
No little stories, that never grow old. 

Though repeated again and again. 

No little chair drawn close to m}' own 

In the hush of the twiligiit hour ; 
No little love-pats, a language their own, 

Are speaking with magical power. 

No little voice offers prayer b}' my bed, 

With eyes ol't uplifted to mine ; 
Nor blessing I give with mv hand on her head. 

While she asks a blessing divine. 

No little one comes with her good night kiss ; 

Sweet golden haired fairy she seems ; 
As, thus rounding out our glad day of bliss, 

She flits to the blest land ot dreams. 

Two little golden heads, once I called mine, 
That now from my home nest have flown ; 

The one has turned a sunny brown 
And claims the gold her own. 



7 
And I am left alone to bear 

My weariness and pain ; 
How oft I lift the silent prayer. 

Give back my Golden Heads again. 



TINY PEBBLES. 



Do vou cast tiny pebbles 
In the placid lakelet's face. 

Watching then the circling ripples, 
As around thev seem to chase? 

Thus whene'er you give a pleasure 
To your little playmates hearts, 

It will waken dancing dimples, 
At the joy your gift imparts. 

So, I'd have you learn a lesson 
From the circling ripples chase, 

That 3^our life may waken dimples 
In the hearts as well as face. 



OUR HOME. 



Around our door is blooming 
Sweet egiantine, the Rose ; 

While Woodbine and Clematis 
A softened shadow throws. 

White lilies of the vale, and lilies of a day 

Give us their Heaven born fragrance. 
Each in their own sweet way. 

And the graceful elm tree branches, 
Afford me grateful shade, 

'Neath which I watch the flitting 
Of the veriest sunbeam made. 

As she gathers lilac clusters. 
Or sweet mock orange spiay. 

And bids me bind them in a wreath. 
For her own crown to-day. 



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And then again we gather 

Ripe strawberries, so red. 
The sweetest ever gi'owing 

From Grandmama's own bed. 
And grapes in full green clusters 

Are hanging o'er iis high. 
And promise purple richness 

In the days ot by and bv. 

We have a tinv forest bower. 

Of dark browed evergreen. 
And ott I pass a pleasant hour 

As golden heads Jire seen : 
Their floating tresses catching oft 

As they flit in and out ; 
While trom within, there comes the sound 

Of "Bo Peep's" merry shout. 

The little birds, at evening. 

Come swinging on the vine 
That o'er our cosy resting place, 

Its green leaves doth entwine, 



lO 

The language of their chirping 

We cannot quite divine. 
But fancy that it breaths of love, 

Like talks of 3^ours and mine. 

What merry making we do have, 

And taking tea together, 
When rain drops, on the window pane, 

Tell us of dreary weather. 
And oft sweet music do we liear. 

Mama's dear hand is waking. 
So sweet, our joyous hearts, it seems. 

To fairy land she's taking. 
And tiny feel, with dancing tread. 

Are working out their pleasure. 
While tiny voice comes chiming in 

With now and then a measure. 

Oft hand in hand we wander. 

Queens in our simple way ; 
Because we do not squander 

The pleasures oi our day. 



1 1 

And many times we whisper 

Of the One that gives such store ; 

And that our joys may Hnger, 
Each morning" we implore. 

The gay, the giddy and the great, 

Were puzzled, here, to find 
The joys and beauties of our home, 

So pleasing to our mind. 
But Grandmama wears glasses 

Set in love's golden bows ; 
And Nannie sees a beauty 

Wherever Grandma shows. 



GRANDMA'S PET. 



Grandma has a little pet. 

Her years of age are two. 
She has a head of golden hair, 

And wears a dress of blue. 

She has eves of darkest brown, 

And they are very bright, 
It fills her Grandma's heart with joy 

To see their dancing light. 

She comes to see her every day. 
And says 'T brought you this ;" 

Then on to Grandpa's knee she climbs 
And gives a loving kiss. 

We talk about the birds and flowers. 

And for the pictures look , 
But Grandma says the sweetest one 

Is not within the book. 



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And then half catching at the thought, 

"Love me?" she'll sweetly say ; 
While smiles around the little mouth. 

With dimples are at play. 

Love you? my little treasure dear, 
Yes more than tongue can tell ; 

And hugging close the little pet. 
You cannot know how well. 



OUR QUEEN'S SLIPPER. 



A tiny slipper, of glossy bronze. 

That encased a foot most fair. 
And finished a form aligiit with grace. 

And tresses of golden hair. 

And worn it was by a household queen, 
O'er a worshipful kingdom small. 

Who wielded the sceptre of sweet child love, 
As we bowed before its thrall. 



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Twenty-fi\'e years have I kept guard, 

O'er this memento fair, 
Of the days when we dandled our baby queen. 

With the tresses of golden hair. 

It now returns our queen to serve. 

As a watch case silken lined : 
And a birthday token of that true love. 

That mother and child doth bind. 

And over the other Til still keep guard 

With a mother's watchful care. 
For I ne'er behold, but it brink's to me 

Our Queen with the golden hair. 



EASTER DAY. 



Why do thev call it Easter day, 

And deck God's house with flowers? 

And why do we bear the banners say 
In these tiny hands of ours? 

And why are the sounds of the carols sweet, 

Resounding through the air. 
As we bear them aloft on our Easter march 

And lav them on altars t'air? 

I know they are telling of something good. 

These beautiful Easter flowers. 
For I did learn in my babyhood, 

'Twas the day of joyous hours. 

And I have seen your face aglow. 
When these gifts, of beautv rare. 

Were brought to grace your own sick room, 
And shed their perfume there. 



i6 

Now tell me plainly. Grandma dear. 

What mean these tokens fair? 
And why we sing the carols sweet, 

And the gilded banners bear? 

It is the day on which Christ rose 
From tiie dark and cheerless grave ; 

For He was sent on earth to die, 
Our souls from sin to save. 

He is sitting now at God's rig-ht hand, 

And intercedes with prayer, 
That when we die we too mav rise 

To that liome so bright and fair. 

And so, on this Holy Easter day, 
We offerings bring and flowers ; 

For our Lord has risen and Christian hope 
Has entered these hearts of ours. 

Dear child, it was on Easter Eve, 

That they gave your baptismal name ; 

And signed with a cross your own fair brow, 
In token that Christ's you became. 



17 
So ever sing the carols sweet. 

Bring flowers and banners gay. 
Our "Risen Lord" with love to greet. 

On this Holy Easter day. 



DAISIES. 



Ah I who shall bring me the daisies white. 
On this long bright summer day? 

For the chubby hands of m^• darling one 
Are plucking them tar awa\-. 

I scarce can bear the glowing warmth 
Of the sunshine's brightning rav, 

For the buttercups gold and the daisies white 
Are mocking my heart, to-day. 

With a song of the past and its jovous hours. 
When the love of my darling child. 

Did brighten my room with the clusters fair. 
Of the daisy's blooming wild. 



And I twined a wreath for her playw^orn hat. 

Or to ijarland herfloatinor hair, 
And my own heart's love was woven in 

With the daisies nestling there. 

The beautiful daisies dot the tield. 

And wave with a graceful nod, 
As they catch the odor of clover blooms, 

Exhaled from the bright green sod. 

So our hearts must bow with a yielding grace. 

Though our lives apart are riven. 
That we catch the breath of the bountiful gifts 

From the Father's hand still given. 

And our hearts look up, like the buttercups gold 

To garner the heavenly light. 
With a joyous hope, that we soon ma}' enfold 

Each other with love's delight. 

But who shall bring me the daisies white 
On this long bright summer day ? 

While the chubby hands of my darling one 
Are plucking them far away. 



Mmmmm 

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